Do Not Do An Immoral Thing For

To Be Loved To Madness--such Was Her Great Desire. Love Was To Her The One Cordial Which Could Drive Away The Eating Loneliness Of Her Days. And She Seemed To Long For The Abstraction Called Passionate Love More Than For Any Particular Lover.

Once Let A Maiden Admit The Possibility Of Her Being Stricken With Love For Some One At A Certain Hour And Place, And The Thing Is As Good As Done.

And Yet To Every Bad There Is A Worse.

The Social Mould Civilization Fits Us Into Have No More Relation To Our Actual Shapes Than The Conventional Shapes Of The Constellations Have To The Real Star-patterns. I Am Called Mrs. Richard Phillotson, Living A Calm Wedded Life With My Counterpart Of That Name. But I Am Not Really Mrs. Richard Phillotson, But A Woman Tossed About, All Alone, With Aberrant Passions, And Unaccountable Antipathies.

Because What's The Use Of Learning That I Am One Of A Long Row Only - Finding Out That There Is Set Down In Some Old Book Somebody Just Like Me, And To Know That I Shall Only Act Her Part; Making Me Sad, That's All. The Best Is Not To Remember Your Nature And Your Past Doings Have Been Just Like Thousands' And Thousands', And That Your Coming Life And Doings'll Be Like Thousands' And Thousands'.